For Drew Tinnin

i remember nights when i said
i would conquer the world
and you said you would lift me up
so that i could see it all—
you dressed me in blue to blend in with the sky
while i dragged your swag from place to place.

we sang of the strains in the Ohio Valley
where you once earned your stripes
in hollowed brick buildings;
the sun always shined on you there
as ladies and men from all over our plains
met you with esteem, met with design
to emulate your charm.

we swore to always let the dampened minds
of those distraught to find our beacon:
a six-sided caster for those hopeful to take a ride upon
and see the world we built for them
(made of cement, leaflets, and colors)
until they could leap from the ride they garnered
and walk on their own.

i dreamt of taking in a good stiff Merlot
with you and others at hand:
we would laugh about those little wonders
whose heads we would cram with knowledge
of their lives ahead: how smoothly it would go down
as you in some Sanseic fashion would take
that gleaming whistling wonder from your pocket
and we would hear the clicks together
until our badges leapt through thin air.

this summer’s for you.

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